Chapter 102

Chapter 102
Claire’s POV
I watch as Clive uses a ladle to pour the stew into the patterned red bowl, which reminds me of something you would buy in the mediterranean, possibly Spain or Italy. “There is crusty bread on the table, help yourself, Claire,” he tells me like there is nothing strange going on in this town and close to his cabin right now.
Is he really going to carry on like everything in the world is normal? And that the woman on those pictures could pass as me. I didn’t get a chance to look at the poster picture, but I need a closer inspection.
My heart is racing, and my stomach is nauseous. I really do not feel like I could eat let alone keep it down.
“Thanks,” I say because, well you know, it’s easier to go with the flow. Especially when you need all your mental capacity and brain power to think of how exactly you can get out of this situation.
I want to cry and wonder and lose myself in the depths of my mind to find out when my life and how it went to total shit.
Was I always like this in flight or fight mode? Or was Jonathan the instigator?
And now my mind is wondering what it would feel like if I stuck the bread knife in Clive’s neck and watched him bleed to death. I metaphorically slap myself. What has come over me? I am not a violent person. I am not some kind of irrational killer. So why am I all of a sudden having these intrusive thoughts towards Clive? When in reality, he hasn’t actually done anything per se to me. YET!
God, I need to calm the fuck down.
Clive comes towards me and sets the pretty bowl down with the steaming stew in it. “I hope you like it; I made it myself.”
“Right. I’m sure it will taste delicious, Clive. Have you always cooked or did your wife before you cook?”
He has a pained expression on his face. “My ma taught me how to cook. She didn’t have much time for cooking, she was a drunk,” he tells me which surprises me, him mentioning something so personal. Maybe Jake follows in her footsteps. Speaking of Jake, I am wondering how long it will be before he is back. I hope with every fiber in my body that he gets caught out in the storm and freezes to death.
See, there I go again. Irrational, intrusive thoughts.
I pick up the spoon and place it in the bowl. I have to admit it does smell delicious this food that Clive has made. He makes himself up a bowl and brings it to the table and takes a seat opposite me. He breaks some bread off the crusty loaf, butters it and dips it into his dish. “Ah, lass this is good. Dig in, you need to keep your strength and energy up. It’s going to be a cold one tonight.”
He has no idea how cold it is going to be for me. After the woman’s cryptic words in the store and now the message from Nathalie, I am not for hanging around to wait and see what happens.
Hell, I don’t even much care to find out and dig around online to see what this whole community and bunch of fuckups are actually doing around here.
All I want is to get out.
To be safe.
To find myself again.
To be whole.
Is that too much to ask? Will I ever find those things again?
Life has thrown me a shit hand since I met Jonathan and all the years planning to seek my revenge have only led me into further danger.
“You’re not eating, Claire,” he says from across the table as he peers at me over the bread near his mouth.
“What?”
“I said,” he says patiently as if talking to a child. “You are not eating. You are only holding the spoon.”
Does he know I am planning to leave? Am I being too paranoid?
“Oops,” I reply. It’s all I can manage. My mind is in turmoil with recent events and reading online. I can’t lie to you, the message from Nathalie has shaken me to the core.
More importantly, however, what is my plan to get out. All I know is that my instinct is telling me to make a run for it.
Jake is up to something, and those pictures are too close to home.
“Tell me more about the woman they found in your woods, Clive.”
He doesn’t answer me; he keeps his eyes down focused on the bowl of food in front of me. Every now and then he breaks off bread and dips it in his bowl.
Finally, he lifts his head, his eyes dark and thunderous making me shudder. Hector comes towards me and rests his chin on my thigh. “Do you want some food, sweetheart?” I say.
“He knows not to beg at the table, Claire.”
I shrug my shoulders. “He’s too adorable not to.” I break some bread off the crusty loaf, dip it in my bowl of hot food and pass it to him. Hector wolfs it down like it was his first bite to eat in the last year. I pat his head, enjoying the softness of his pale curls.
Clive is avoiding answering the question. Not the first time.
“The woman, Clive. In your woods. I want the whole story.”
Hector places a paw on my leg so I give him some more food. I know he has a full bowl, and I am happy to report that Clive dotes on his dog. Who wouldn’t with his beautiful brownish-amber eyes that look as if he can see right into your soul.
Clive lets out a ragged breath and places his spoon down in the bowl. He pinches the top of his nose as I wait with abated breath for him to tell me the whole story.